


sunflower seeds

by neiljostens (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Banter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Kisses, M/M, lots of awkward phrases courtesy of futakuchi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5162468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/neiljostens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Kenji kisses him, Keiji’s brain goes blank and all he can think about is how Kenji tastes like the ranch-flavored sunflower seeds he had earlier (his favorite, Keiji thinks, flashing back to their conversation months ago). Then Keiji realizes that maybe that’s not the best thing to think about while he’s kissing his best friend, so he loses himself in the feel of Kenji’s mouth on his. The dugout smells like sweat and dust and weathered leather, and he thinks he can hear Koutarou and Tetsurou cheering in the background, but he can’t find it in himself to care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sunflower seeds

**Author's Note:**

> why do i ship akaafuta please send em solace,

            For as long as he can remember, baseball has been Keiji’s life. He’s been playing since he could stand up and swing a bat without losing balance. And the thing is, he’s good at it, too. Much better than anyone else in his grade or of his age, or even in the city, for that matter. He dominated the summertime rec leagues, crushed every opponent on every tournament team he played on, and cruised through throwing and catching competitions with ease.

            So, naturally, he’s been accepted to the best baseball school in Japan: Sakuraminami. He works hard at both education and baseball (really, they’re the only things he can do well), so he doesn’t even need a baseball scholarship because he’d passed the entrance exam with flying colors.

            Some would say that everything in his life was handed to him—he was talented at baseball, excellent in school, polite, nice, pretty—but really, he had to work hard for it. And he deserves it. Keiji deserves to stand in front of the arched entryway of Sakuraminami.

            That’s a reassuring thought as he stares up at the school looming before him, all of his bags laid on the ground beside him where his dad had dropped him, teary-eyed. Keiji sighs to expel his nerves—not that there’s many of them, of course—and slips his backpack onto his back and his three suitcases into his hands, and begins the trek to the main office of Sakuraminami High School, his new home for three years.

            “Hi, you’re new here, right?” A voice asks, and Keiji glances over at them and nods. The owner of the voice is a tall, beautiful black-haired girl who looks to be older than he is. She speaks softly, and Keiji has to lean closer to hear her next words. “I’m Shimizu Kiyoko, a second year. Shiga-sensei told me to take you to your dorm. You’re Akaashi Keiji, correct?”

            Keiji clears his throat and answers, “Yes, I’m Akaashi Keiji. Thank you, Shimizu-san.”

            She hands him a piece of paper and says, “Here’s your schedule.”

            Keiji glances down at it and then looks back up and repeats, “Thank you, Shimizu-san.” Then everything falls silent, and while Keiji doesn’t mind silence most of the time, the air between Shimizu and him is stilted and awkward. This is the one kind of quiet he will not do.

            So he decides to break it. “So, Shimizu-san, what are you involved in here?”

            “Oh! I’m a manager for the baseball team. What are you planning on doing here, Akaashi-kun?”

            “What a coincidence, Shimizu-san; I’m playing baseball.” Keiji smiles slightly, his gaze dropping to the baseball bag in his left hand. The urge to pull his mitt out and throw a ball around rises up within him, but he suppresses it. He can wait until he’s at least found his dorm to start up with baseball here.

            “Oh, really? That’s quite funny. What position do you play?”

            “I’m second baseman and usually bat cleanup, but I’m not sure how I’ll fare here. After all, this is the best baseball school in all of Japan.”

           “We’re in need of a second baseman, so you came at the right time. Akiteru-senpai just graduated, and he was the best second baseman this school has seen. You’ve got some big shoes to fill. Oh, look, we’re here.” Shimizu-san says, gesturing to the building before them. “This is the Nobukuchi building. Your room number is 216, and it’s on the second floor in the Yato wing. I don’t know if you’re roommate’s arrived yet, but I’m sure he’ll arrive soon. Good luck, Akaashi-kun, I’ll see you at practice.”

            “Thank you, Shimizu-san,” he says, and then watches her leave before opening the door to the Nobukuchi building and making his way up the stairs. He quickly locates his dorm—he’s always had a good sense of direction—and sets his suitcases down on the bed. He pulls his bat and balls out of his baseball bag, and then makes his way down to the diamonds he saw on the way to the dorm with Shimizu-san.

            He inhales the scent of the baseball field—dust, weathered leather, and dried sweat, always a pleasant combination—and then stands at home plate and takes a deep breath. Then he tosses the ball up, and swings the bat to match the toss, and smacks the ball out to center field. It soars beyond the fence, beyond the bleachers, even, and promptly smacks a passerby in the head.

            “Shit.” Keiji mumbles, running over to where they are and hopping a fence along the way. He notices they’re laying on the ground, motionless, and again, he swears: “Shit.”

            “Hey, are you okay?” He calls, finally reaching the person he’d struck down.

            “I think…I’m dying….” The person—Keiji sees it’s a boy—moans, rolling over onto his back and facing the sky. “You killed me.”

            “You’re smiling.” Keiji says bluntly. “And you’re still alive.”

            “Some people smile when they want to hide the pain, player-kun. You know my name, not my story.” The boy says, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

            Keiji doesn’t get annoyed very easily—he has almost endless patience—but he decides right here and now that this boy is annoying. “You’re wearing a baseball helmet,” he points out, eyes flickering to the white-and-gold headgear firmly attached to the other’s head.

            “Oh. So I am. I guess I’m not dying, am I?”

            Keiji doesn’t respond.

            “I’m Futakuchi Kenji, first year, class 1-4.” He says, raising his eyebrows teasingly. “I’m trying out for the baseball team, whenever tryouts are. Hey, do you know when tryouts are?”

            “No, I just got here.”

            “Oh. I’ve been here for a few days and I haven’t seen anything. You’re trying out too, right?”

            “Yes, I am. I’m trying out for second base. You?”

            “Shortstop. Maybe if we get lucky we both make it and play in the games as starters. Then we’d get to work together all the time. What do you say, player-kun~?” Futakuchi smirks, making Keiji’s eye twitch.

            “I have a name, you know,” he deadpans, looking Futakuchi right in the eyes. In response, Futakuchi winks, and Keiji pretends that he doesn’t think that he’s attractive. Unfortunately, in Futakuchi’s case, good looks do not equal a good personality. In fact, it’s probably the opposite.

            “I was wondering when you’d make me stop calling you player-kun! So, what’s the name? Gorgeous name for a gorgeous guy, I expect.”

            “I guess you’ll find out if that theory rings true at tryouts. Hope to see you there, Futakuchi-kun,” Keiji says smoothly, and then begins the walk back to the dorms. He picks up his bat and ball from where they’d dropped, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Futakuchi waving while jumping up and down, shouting, “Hey, player-kun! I don’t even know when tryouts are!”

            “What a shame, Futakuchi-kun. Guess you’ll never know my name.” He calls back over his shoulder.

            ---

            It turns out his roommate is an energetic first year named Nishinoya Yuu—“call me Noya!”—who is also trying out for the baseball team. In the five minutes Keiji has known him, he already knows that Noya likes curry better than sushi, but prefers onigiri above anything else, is gay, that his best friend is Bokuto Koutarou, second year catcher for the baseball team, that he had to leave his other best friend, Tanaka, behind when he came to Sakuraminami, and that he thinks that he and Keiji will get along well.

            Keiji is thrilled.

            He excuses himself out of the dorm, promises that he’ll make his bed later when Noya is visiting Bokuto, and goes down to the student lounge area to buy a snack. He quickly picks one out—his favorite, chocolate-flavored pocky, which, granted, is not the healthiest, but habits are hard to break—pays for it, and then wanders over to a bench to sit down and enjoy his snack. He hears a quiet squeak from beside him, and he looks over to see a young girl with blonde hair. She’s small than he is, and shorter, and she’s also visibly shaking.

            Keiji feels bad for her—she seems too nervous for her own good, poor thing—so he opens his mouth and asks, “Are you okay?”

            “Yes!” She nearly shrieks, bringing a hand up to smooth her hair down. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you very much!” Her back is ramrod straight, and on her face is the most terrified look Keiji’s ever seen. He reckons it’s because he’s there.

            “Are you sure?” He presses, “You’re shaking. Are you nervous?”

            She sags against the bench. “Yes, I’m nervous. Everyone here is so big and tall and some of them have scary faces like you and - !” She stops herself. “I apologize sincerely! I didn’t mean to say your face was scary!”

            Keiji smiles slightly and says, “It’s okay. I’m Akaashi Keiji, what’s your name?”

            “Yachi Hitoka! Pleased to meet you!”

            “Please don’t be so nervous, Yachi-san, I’m a first year just like you.”

            “Oh, really, Akaashi-kun?” She takes a deep breath. “I’m just so nervous, I’m sorry, please forgive me. This is my first time away from home and – oh, Akaashi-kun, what class are you in? It would be nice to have at least one friendly face on the first day of classes.”

            “Ah, I believe I’m in either 1-4 or 1-5. I need to take a closer look at my schedule. When Shimizu-san handed it to me earlier I only glanced at it.”

            “I’m in class 1-5. Do you think it will be hard?” Yachi asks, glancing over at him nervously.

            Keiji shrugs and says, “I don’t know about you, Yachi-san, but I imagine it will be difficult for me to balance baseball and school here.”

            “Oh, Akaashi-kun, you’re playing baseball? I’m going to be a manager!”

            “Have you met Shimizu-san? She’s the second year manager for the baseball team. I’m sure she could show you the ropes.”

            “O-Oh, no, older girls make me nervous, especially if they’re pretty. Is she pretty, Akaashi-kun?”

            “If you’re into that kind of thing,” Keiji shrugs, then stands up from the bench. “I’m going back to my dorm. See you later, Yachi-san. Let’s study together sometime.”

            “A-ah, yes, Akaashi-kun! Give me your number so we can talk sometime!” Yachi stutters, and Keiji nods, smiling softly, and hands her his phone so she can input her contact. She does the same, and then they part ways.

            On the way back, Keiji sports a sign that reads, “Baseball team tryouts—next Tuesday,” and he mentally notes this information. Then he wonders how Futakuchi _couldn’t_ have seen the sign, because it’s easily the most readable thing in the hallway. The letters are a bright red, outlined in an eye-shocking shade of blue, set on an almost fluorescent yellow background. It’s irritating to look at, but it catches your attention and catches it well.

            Keiji wonders if Futakuchi is blind, or maybe just stupid. Probably the latter.

            He arrives at his dorm, unpacks his bags into the drawers, then pulls out a pair of pajamas and wanders over to the baths.

            He’s just begun to relax when someone sinks into the water next to him and says, “Thought I wouldn’t see you for another week, player-kun!” Keiji silently resigns himself to a half hour of silence broken only by Futakuchi’s incessant talking. He’s only known the other boy for around five minutes, but one thing he’s already aware of: Futakuchi talks even when no one is listening.

            “What, cat got your tongue?” Futakuchi teases slyly, leaning in closer to Keiji’s face than he’d like and waggling his eyebrows. “I thought even _you’d_ want to say something to break the silence.”

            “Please stop talking, Futakuchi-kun,” Keiji says, sighing. “I didn’t know it was possible to be tired of someone’s voice this fast.”

            “Wow, _rude_ , player-kun, I thought you’d at least have some manners. I didn’t realize I was getting involved with such a—“

            “Futakuchi-kun.”

            “Yeah? What do you need?”

            “Would you like to know my name so you can stop referring to me as player-kun?” Keiji doesn’t know if this is a good idea—it’s probably not—but his best friend growing up was Oikawa Tooru, who isn’t exactly known for his good ideas.

            “Really? You’d do that, player-kun? I’m shocked. I didn’t think you’d cave this fast.”

            “There’s a catch, Futakuchi-kun. You have to leave me alone after I tell you my name. No talking in the hallways, no waves, nothing. You can’t even talk to me at tryouts. On the field is the only exception.” Keiji’s eyes flicker to Futakuchi, who looks like he’s seriously contemplating it, which is dumb. It’s a win for Keiji and a lose for the other.

            Futakuchi’s eyes snap up to his. “Ah, player-kun, how would you live without my presence in your life? I spice things up. I’m something you need in your probably boring life. Hey, what do you do on the weekends?”

            “Was that a no?” Keiji asks bluntly, and then: “Are you asking me out?”

            “NO!” Futakuchi yells, shooting up out of the bathwater. “No, no, no!” He’s blushing. His cheeks are bright red, and it doesn’t look like they’ll be paling in color anytime soon. “I wasn’t asking you out, player-kun. While I do swing that way, you’re not exactly my type. Well, you are, but I don’t know you very well and I don’t even know your name and I’m determined not to ask you out until I know your name and—why am I still talking, holy shit.”

            “You’re blushing, Futakuchi-kun.”

            “Yeah, _no shit_ , Sherlock. What a deduction.” Futakuchi says fiercely, turning his head away from Keiji, who smothers his  laughter behind his hand. “I’m leaving.”

            “I’ll see you next Tuesday, Futakuchi-kun.” Keiji calls as Futakuchi climbs out of the bath, all long legs and toned arms. Keiji pretends he’s not staring. “Oh, and Futakuchi-kun?”

            Futakuchi doesn’t turn around, but his head jerks a little and Keiji knows he’s listening.

            “My name is Akaashi Keiji.”

            Keiji pretends not to laugh when Futakuchi stumbles and smacks his head on the doorframe, muttering, “ _fuck_ , I knew his name would be gorgeous.”

            “Have a good trip?”

            “Oh, fuck off!”

\--

            Keiji sees Futakuchi on the first day of classes. It seems like Futakuchi’s gotten over his embarrassment; he waves at Keiji, waggles his eyebrows, and mouths, “call me” while doing that stupid hand motion that goes with the term. Keiji honestly doesn’t know which god he’s dishonored to deserve this, but he merely sighs and promises to go to the nearest shrine when he gets some free time.

            “Akaashi-kun!” Futakuchi calls loudly, pushing through the crowd to get to Keiji. When he arrives, he stands next to him and slings an arm around Keiji’s shoulder, saying something along the lines of, “Fancy seeing you here!”

            “Fancy seeing you here, indeed,” Keiji mumbles, trying to shake Futakuchi’s arm off of him. “Please leave me alone, Futakuchi-kun, and go to class.”

            “What class are you in? I re-checked my schedule and apparently I’m in 1-5 instead of 1-4. Do you know anyone in 1-5, Akaashi?” Futakuchi asks, walking along with Keiji.

            “I’ll tell you if you’ll stop touching me,” Keiji says, looking right at Futakuchi and daring him to say no. Futakuchi freezes, then removes his arm and holds his hands up in surrender position. Keiji sighs. “I’m in class 1-5, and so is Yachi-san. That’s all I know. My roommate is in 1-2.”

            “Who’s your roommate? Mine is Ennoshita Chikara, he plays baseball, too. He stays up _super_ late though, I think he has insomnia or something. He’s hot, too, but not as hot as you.” Futakuchi pauses to wink, and then continues: “But, yeah, Akaashi-kun, who’s your roommate?”

            “Nishinoya Yuu. Coincidentally, he plays baseball as well.”

            “Oh, nice, I’ve heard of him. He’s infamous around campus already. Did you hear about that second year Bokuto’s party? Apparently everyone got _smashed_ and then Noya tried to, like, do a strip tease but right as he was about to do it the dean arrived and he got demoted a class. Crazy shit right there. Hey, Akaashi-kun?”

            “Yes, Futakuchi-kun?”

            “Would you do a strip tease for me?”

            Keiji merely sighs and walks faster.

            “You didn’t answer my question!”

            “Maybe if you pay me enough,” Keiji answers, and that’s that. He doesn’t have to look back to know that Futakuchi’s blushing.

\--

            Tryouts roll around this Tuesday, and Keiji is perfectly calm. He pulls his glove and bat out of his bag, rouses Noya from his daily afternoon nap—“gotta get my beauty sleep in, Keiji, you know how it is”—and then heads down to the field and begins to stretch.

            Bokuto, whom Keiji knows from the already numerous times he’s crashed on their extra bunk bed, Kuroo, Bokuto’s best friend, and Ennoshita, Futakuchi’s roommate, are already all there. Bokuto and Kuroo are laughing about something —Keiji thinks he hears something about how Noya walked in on Bokuto giving Kuroo a blowjob, and Keiji decides that’s enough—but Ennoshita is quietly smiling to himself as he goes through the routine.

            Keiji decides to join him. “Hello, Ennoshita-san. I’m Akaashi Keiji.”

            Ennoshita looks up, a lazy smile on his face. “Oh, I know. Futakuchi’s talked about you so much these past couple days that it’s getting kinda creepy. ‘Did I tell you about our encounter in the bathroom, Chikara?’ ‘I think I _like_ him, Chikara.’”

            “That was a good impression, Ennoshita-san, I’m impressed.” Keiji says dryly, and Ennoshita laughs while going into the next stretch. “How did he get my number, anyways?”

            “Oh, he bothered Yachi-san about it for days. It was comical, really.”

            “Akaashi-kun!” Keiji hears, and he glances up to see Futakuchi approaching them. “I see you met Chikara!”

            “I have. Did you know he does uncanny impressions, Futakuchi-kun?”

            Futakuchi looks directly at Ennoshita. “Chikara, you _didn’t_.”

            Ennoshita smiles a shit-eating grin. “Oh, I did. He’s quite impressed, too.”

            “I didn’t ask for this.” Futakuchi says, his gaze fixed on the sky. “Why me? What have I done to deserve this?”

            “You’ve bothered me nonstop this past week.”

            “Yeah, because we’re _friends_!”

            “Well, Futakuchi-kun, it seems like you want to be more than that,” Keiji says, smiling slightly. “If your behavior over the last week is any indication. I’ve never seen anyone less subtle about their crush, and I grew up knowing Oikawa Tooru, possibly the least subtle person I know. You’re truly in a league of your own, Futakuchi-kun.”

            “Oh, fuck off!” Futakuchi huffs, a pout on his face. “Since you all are being so mean, I’m going to join Yamaguchi for stretching.”

            “Have fun, Futakuchi-kun.” Keiji says, then turns to Ennoshita and says, “He’s quite the drama queen.”

            In response, Ennoshita says, “Try living with him.”

\--

            “Futakuchi-kun!” Keiji yells, flipping the ball at him from his position near first base. Futakuchi catches it like he was waiting for it, and Keiji chances a glance over to the dugout where the coach is standing. He looks impressed with both of their reflexes, and gestures for them to keep going.

            “Akaashi-kun!” Futakuchi yells in response, tossing it back to him. Keiji catches it with ease, and smiles over at Futakuchi because that was a beautiful throw.

            They play like they’re made for each other; Keiji has always outmatched people when it came to baseball, and no one could ever keep up with him. He grew at an outstanding rate, and after a while people stopped trying to beat him. Keiji had never stopped trying to win, though, despite that, and now, here he is today, standing in the dirt at his usual second base position, his once pristine white pants dusty, his mitt battered and worn, and a smile on his face.

            Futakuchi has matched him perfectly, and Keiji knows that coming to Sakuraminami was the right decision. He’s finally found someone who can catch up with him, who he doesn’t have to push to work hard.

            Futakuchi is grinning, his smile wide, and there’s something in that smile of his that makes Keiji think, _he’s not so bad_.

            But, of course, all good things must come to an end, so when tryouts are over and Futakuchi approaches him, Keiji regrets his earlier thought.

            “We make a good team, eh, Akaashi?”

            “I suppose.” Keiji says in response, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. “Do you think we’ll make the team, Futakuchi-kun?”

            “Are you kidding me? Hell fucking _yeah_. We were the best ones here.” Futakuchi says proudly, wiggling his eyebrows. His face then falls. “I can’t believe I have to go and do homework now after that life-changing experience.”

            “If you wanted, we could do it together, Futakuchi-kun,” Keiji offers offhandedly, grabbing his batbag from the bench and placing his baseball equipment in it. “I’m not all that great at Japanese History, but I’m good at English, which I know you’re bad at.” When Futakuchi gives him a look, Keiji shrugs and says, “I saw your last test grade, Futakuchi-kun. I didn’t know it was possible to get that low of a score.”

            “That’s bullying, Akaashi-kun!” Futakuchi yells, pouting. “Chikara, help! Akaashi-kun is bullying me!”

           “Good,” Keiji hears Ennoshita say. “You deserve it. Someone has to deflate that big head of yours.”

            Futakuchi’s jaw drops and Keiji smiles slightly. Riling Futakuchi is so easy; it’s like second nature to Keiji. He really does want Futakuchi to do homework with him, though; his worst subject is the other’s best, and vice versa. Apparently they complement each other off the baseball field as well.

            “That’s so meeean, Chikara!” Futakuchi practically wails, and Keiji sighs, knowing he has to do damage control.

            “Futakuchi-kun, it was a joke. I would like to study together later, if you don’t mind. The homework we have tonight is particularly rough, I believe, from what I saw earlier,” Keiji says, and Futakuchi’s face lights up.

            “Yes!” Futakuchi cheers enthusiastically, then clears his throat with pink cheeks and says, “Uh, I mean, that’s cool. I’m down with that. My dorm or yours?”

            “Whichever works for you. We live right down the hall from each other so it doesn’t matter to me. I feel like your dorm would be quieter, but I think Noya is sleeping at Bokuto’s tonight, which gets rid of the noise in mine. What do you think, Futakuchi-kun?” Keiji asks, slinging his bag over his shoulder and beginning the walk out of the dugout. He feels Futakuchi’s not-so-subtle gaze follow his ass, and he turns around. “Are you coming?”

            Futakuchi unfreezes and begins shoving things into his bag with haste. “Yeah, yeah, hold on!” He says hurriedly, tripping over his feet to exit the dugout. “I’m coming.”

            “You know, Futakuchi-kun, for a shortstop, you sure are clumsy. I thought shortstops were supposed to be good with their feet?”

            “I’m actually better with my mouth,” Futakuchi says, winking. “I got lots of practice from all the sunflower seeds I ate when I was younger. Hey, Akaashi-kun, do you like sunflower seeds?”

            “I adore them,” Keiji says dryly, looking back at Futakuchi to make sure he’s still following. When he affirms that he is, he continues to walk towards the dorms and towards both his bed and a hot bath. “My favorite flavor is ranch.”

            “Same, actually!” Futakuchi says excitedly. “My coach said that I shouldn’t eat them during games because they screw up my concentration or something, but really they help my concentration. The last person I kissed said they made my breath smell bad, though, so I stopped eating them.”

            “I like the taste of sunflower seeds, Futakuchi-kun.” Keiji says without thinking of consequences or implications. Then it hits him what’s just come out of his mouth and he closes his eyes and hopes Futakuchi didn’t take it the wrong way.

            Futakuchi, of course, has taken it the wrong way.

            “Are you offering to kiss me, Akaashi-kun?” He asks slyly, sliding to Keiji’s side with a Cheshire cat grin on his face. “I’m cool if you do. In fact, we could do it right--“

            “Let’s not, Futakuchi-kun.” Keiji says, and while Futakuchi looks a little crestfallen, he drops it.

            Later, after Futakuchi’s left and Keiji’s alone in his dorm, he wonders what it would be like to kiss Futakuchi.

            Then he dismisses the thought because a) why would he ever kiss Futakuchi, b) why would he _want_ to kiss Futakuchi, and c) would Futakuchi even want to kiss him.

            It’s best not to hope, Keiji’s learned. Hope leads to sadness if something doesn’t happen.

\--

It was bound to happen. As much as Keiji hates the idea, he is falling in love with Futakuchi Kenji. He doesn’t know when he started looking at Futakuchi’s ass or thighs or arms (all very, very nice, and also very, very muscular) or started wondering what Futakuchi would feel like pressed up against him while cuddling or started thinking about Futakuchi’s hair and lips all the time.

He thinks about them so much that his grades have started slipping. Instead of doing work in class, he stares at Futakuchi and daydreams. The teacher has called on him eight times in the past four days, and he hasn’t known a single answer because he wasn’t paying attention.

It is time for this to _stop._ He is at Sakuraminami to play baseball, graduate with high marks, and go on to university and play baseball in the national league. He doesn’t have time for stupid boys with stupid hair and stupid lips and stupid thighs. Especially stupid boys like Futakuchi.

Keiji also doesn’t know when Futakuchi started calling him “Keiji” as opposed to “Akaashi-kun,” but he doesn’t say anything about it. They’ve been partners for a good three months now, and have spent the better part of every day together.

It’s really no wonder that Hitoka-chan asked him if he and Futakuchi were together yet.

\--

            It’s during their one of their games in their first year when Keiji notices something wrong with Kenji. He won’t meet Keiji’s gaze, and when Keiji calls out to him mid-game, Kenji stays silent and tosses the ball to Keiji halfheartedly. They don’t make the out.

            Back in the dugout, Keiji corners Kenji. “Kenji,” he says coolly, raising an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

            “Nothing,” Kenji says defensively, trying to slide out of Keiji’s trap and onto the bench. Keiji is in the hole, but can’t find it in himself to care about that right now. There’s something wrong with his partner, and he needs to get to the root of the problem otherwise they might not win this game. And they have to win this game, for Koutarou and Tetsurou, for the seniors.

            “There’s something wrong, Kenji. You know you can’t hide things from me.”

            Kenji shakes his head.

            “ _Kenji_ , I swear to god. Tell me what’s wrong.” Keiji’s voice is on the verge of a plea, but before any more words can get out, his mouth is enveloped by another and hands are grasping his face.

            The first time Kenji kisses him, Keiji’s brain goes blank and all he can think about is how Kenji tastes like the ranch-flavored sunflower seeds he had earlier (his favorite, Keiji thinks, flashing back to their conversation months ago). Then Keiji realizes that maybe that’s not the best thing to think about while he’s kissing his best friend, so he loses himself in the feel of Kenji’s mouth on his. The dugout smells like sweat and dust and weathered leather, and he thinks he can hear Koutarou and Tetsurou cheering in the background, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

            His hands slowly snake their way up Kenji’s neck to the nape, and he pushes their heads closer together.

            He’s dreamed about this moment for a while now, and he’s not about to let a game of baseball ruin it.

            But then Kenji pulls away, so Keiji pulls away, and their air between them is a little stale. Keiji’s mouth tastes like ranch-flavored sunflower seeds, and he allows himself a small smile before turning back to his teammates.

            “About damn time!” Koutarou yells, ruffling Keiji’s hair. “Thought you two’d never get together!”

            Keiji blushes and turns back to Kenji. “That was…enjoyable?”

            “I have dreamed about that for a fucking year, Akaashi Keiji, don’t you dare pass it off as just ‘ _enjoyable_.’ I’m the best damn kisser on this team, admit it.” Kenji says, and while his expression is smug his eyes are glowing.

            Keiji smiles. “I don’t know about that, Kenji. Koutarou’s pretty good at it, too.”

            “Wait, what?”

            “It was a joke, Kenji. It seems you spent too much time dreaming about me and not enough time learning how to decipher my jokes.” Keiji says dryly, and then grabs his helmet and bat and goes out into the “on deck” spot outside the dugout. “If I get a homerun, will I get another kiss?”

            “Only if you hit it for me,” Kenji says, grinning, and Keiji snorts.

            “Always.”

           


End file.
